Detached
by eye of the storm
Summary: An Account of Dennis' Life, seen through his Eyes
1. And So it begins

Disclaimer: None of the 13 Ghost Characters are mine..

Notes: Told in Dennis' POV

Detached

It's hard to explain to anyone my life. Life in the past tense, that is. But I figure I might as try to explain, it's not like I have anywhere to be, or things to be doing..

I almost laughed at that last comment, I mean don't you ever just feel that sometimes things are so unfunny they're insanely funny. I'm not, well, _wasn't_ insane, although by all rights I probably should have been

I mean, how can you explain what happened? I didn't ask to be some psychic with the fucked-up life I had, but that was it - I was Dennis, the ghostcatcher.

All these films – ghosterbusters – they make it sound so easy, like a ghost is just this thing that can't hurt you but annoys people. That isn't the truth.

Okay maybe in someways it is; I mean, a ghost is just a spirit. If the person was nice, never did nothing to harm anyone the chances are the ghost isn't going to bother you much. Same with most ghosts, but as with people there are the dangerous ones, the mad ones who fixate on killing, you, or anyone, you know you're in trouble. Ghosts won't stop like humans do. You can't reason with them and you can't shoot them.

Sure, there are spells, there are containment cubes, but all it takes is someone with as twisted a mind as Cyrus and you're in a shitload of trouble.

Being dead I have a lot of time to reflect these things, and decided that it was probably better that I died when I did, because I honestly couldn't see a future for lanky, out-of-place Dennis Rafkin. I mean, not even being able to touch someone without receiving their pain and memories? How was I supposed to live like that?

And it's not like I ever had a break from this, it was always there. My Mom died in childbirth so my Dad was stuck with me. He wasn't a bad guy, he was very kind I guess, but how can you honestly try to understand a kid like I was? He sent me to a Psychlogist twice weekly after it became obvious that the fact I couldn't touch anyone wasn't some bizaare habit. I think, even when I was a screaming baby I disliked being held, apparantly for the scawny baby I was, I made a hell of a lot of sound.

I was tested for a lot of things, mainly autism, but also just about every other disorder they could think of. I spent a lot of time in those chillingly sterile white rooms while they asked questions, and a lot of time just waiting.

No one really knew what to do with me, but by the time I could make any sense of what I saw when I was touched I had already been living in four separate Psycho wards.

I hated my Dad for sending me there but looking back I think that was probably the right thing to do. I got my own room, I was allowed the freedom of the grounds (with suppervision) as I had never shown any aggressive signs, and my strange habits were accepted like the other patients – I remember this one guy who's room was opposite mine and he spent the whole time in silence. People spoke to him but he didn't respond, but once, as my hand accidently brushed his, I understood.

He had just given up after his wife had died, I felt his pain, I felt his grief, I even felt his passion for his wife and his resignation to not caring anymore. He had tried to kill himself but he had been caught in the semi-blissful moments he had when he was nearly dead, the blood pouring from the jagged slits in his wrists in a (to him) beautiful pattern. 

The next time I saw the man I glanced at his wrists, just jutting out from his white sleeves and I saw the scars on his boney, pale wrists. That was when I realised I was Pyschic.

Not to mention Cursed.


	2. Opportunity

Disclaimer: No 13 Ghosts Characters are mine

A/N Bloodvixen: THANK YOU!

Do you think my story sounds Melodramatic? Yeah and that's without going into the pain and, bloody hell, the fear! Do have any idea how afraid I was? As men, we're supposed to be strong, yeah who am I kidding? I was scared shitless. I wasn't much of a stereotype anyway.

After getting 'released' from the Psycho ward when I was officially an Adult, I didn't know what to do. They gave me lessons, and career guidance, sure – and then what do they do? Abandon me and shove me in the deep end.

Actually that may have more meaning to me than most, because I never learned to Swim, what with being a Child of the State they don't exactly care, except that if you drown they don't have to re-admitt you. Maybe I'm being Callous.. Do I care? No. I'm through with all that. One thing about being a ghost is that you don't have to bother with all this 'being nice to people' pretence as there isn't much point in making an effort to 'get on with people in your life' if you're dead, especially because you don't see many people, let alone speak to them. And then of course you don't have to worry about eating, washing your hair or anything else, because you have no body.. Flippant about death? What else can I do…

Once out the Ward I had to find a job, which was harder than I thought, I mean what company is going to hire an 18 year old who's been in a Psycho ward for the last 8 years and is still a bizaare guy even after he's been released. I mean all those interviews with people and I had to shake their hands then nearly collapsed doing so.. that's not exactly encouraging is it? So there I was, living on the government support money in a disgusting flat while everyone around me thought I was nuts. What a pretty little picture! When I received a letter from a Mr. Cyrus Kriticos I didn't think much of it, but I needed every chance I could have at a job, so I met at the appointed time and there he was, Cyrus.

I asked me to sit down on the comfortable chairs in the expensively stylish café he had asked to meet me in and I was already nervous. He didn't make me shake his hand, for which I was most grateful, instead he ordered me a full meal and coffee for himself. 

"I can't pay for this!" I spluttered out.

He looked at me seriously. "I can." I was slightly worried by now. This guy was almost frighteningly intense.

He waited until the food had arrived before he said anything else, and I swear the silence was so thick you could cut it.

He looked at me and nodded. "Go ahead."

I started eating hungrily and he began talking.

"Rafkin, I've heard of your talents and I want to hire you." Cyrus wasn't the type to waste words.

I stopped eating in surprise. "Wh-AT?"

"I want to hire you." He said patiently, in what I realised much later was an elaborate act.

"I don't have any talents." I said quickly.

"I think you do, _Dennis_. I've heard plenty about you." He saw the look on my face and quickly changed tact "I applogise, I haven't even introduced myself properly. My Name is Cyrus Kriticos. I'm an adventurer by trade.. but now I'm doing something extra special, which is why I need you." I have to hand it to him, the guy was smart and he knew exactly how to manipulate people.

"My talents?" I muttered weakly

"Of course, not everyone is as gifted as you are. Not everyone is Psychic." He said smoothly. "Do you want a refill?"

I looked at my empty glass and blinked.

"Uhh no. What is the job?"

"Quite simple. I need 12 ghosts and you're the one to help me to do it."

A siren blew in my head going '_CRAZY CRAZY CRAZY HE'S CRAZY_' Cyrus expected this and quickly said: "$30, 000 a year, plus a bonus of $2000 for every ghost we can catch."

I was still awestruck

"I'm not crazy" He said and laughed pleasantly. "You've been around enough crazy people to know that."

I was taken in completely. "I'll take the job."

He smiled again. "I thought you would." He offered me a cigar, which I declined and he lit one himself. He handed me a bit of paper with an address on. "Come here tomorrow 6:00am. And don't be late." He left the money for the meal on the table and strode of the Café.

I looked at the bit of paper in my hand, then realised my hand was shaking.


End file.
